


Friends, Lovers and Teammates

by Bunnyhops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, HP: EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnyhops/pseuds/Bunnyhops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron publicly humiliates Hermione, and she's driven from the comforting embrace of the Weasley family. Hermione then strategizes to help to destroy the Chudley Cannons, and finds love in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends, Lovers and Teammates

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

“Miss Granger, Mr. Warbuggle is here to see you.”

 

Hermione looked up from where her head was hung over her desk, amidst the scattered scrolls, various quills, and Muggle pens that she liked to use.

Her secretary frowned at the scene in front of her. It wasn’t like her boss to be so…messy. Usually, the witch was meticulously neat, especially her desk.

 

Mr. Warbuggle stepped just inside the medium sized office and sighed. “I see you’ve read the papers then?” he asked, rhetorically.

 

Hermione’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Her nose was running and it looked as if she was getting hives on her neck.

 

“Though I can sympathize with you; I have bad news. I’ve just received a missive from Romilda Vane, at the Daily Prophet. She wants to interview me about you.” Warbuggle shook his head. “This is unacceptable.” Disappointment and a trace of empathy for the diminutive witch in front of him crossed his face. He didn’t want to do this. Hermione Granger was a talented, skilled, and diligent employee. He also liked her as a person, but they were Unspeakables.

 

“Most of the population knows about our Division thanks to _Voldemort_ , but we’ve maintained a nearly impenetrable secrecy in regards to our staff. We can’t allow digging and we can’t allow the world knowing that you work as an Unspeakable.” He shook his head again. “How that dreadful woman found out that I was somehow connected to you is beyond me.”

 

Hermione, at this point, was sniffling and nodding her head. “I understand, Mr. Warbuggle. I’ll just distribute my case load to Nott and Flaster then clean out my desk.”

 

The tears that had fallen most of the night and much of the morning were at the brink once again.

Mr. Warbuggle nodded slowly then handed her a scroll with the ministry seal. “This is a letter of recommendation from three of our department supervisors, including myself. I have no doubt that you’ll find another most satisfying job.” With that, he stood, gave her one last glance and left.

 

The secretary closed the door to the muffled sobs her boss was trying, in vain, to still.

The crying went on for another ten minutes before Draco Malfoy entered the outer office. “Mr. Malfoy, how may I be of assistance?”

 

Wanda, Hermione’s secretary, tensed when the attractive blond came into view; her words were clipped and her eyes were sharp. She was protective of Miss Granger and knew that even though Malfoy and she had become friends over the last two years, the Malfoy heir still riled Miss Granger for the thrill of the fight. Wanda did not feel it was a good time to aggravate the illustrious Muggle-born.

 

Draco smiled at the witch and put a hand up in surrender. “Relax, Wanda. I just came by to talk to her. Is she-“

 

He was interrupted by a rather loud wailing sound coming from behind the closed door.

 

He cringed. Inhaling, he turned the knob, and entered. “Hermione,” he said quietly, clicking the door shut behind him.

 

The small witch’s head snapped up and before Draco knew what had hit him; his arms were full of a warm witch, muttering in distress. Draco shushed her and held her and rocked her slightly in place until she quieted enough for him to cast a silencing charm around the room.

 

Hermione plopped down in a cushy seat and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t believe he did this! Why would he do this? Didn’t he think that the humiliation of me seeing the pictures of him with _her_ enough? He said he was sorry. He said he understood why I was angry. He admitted that cheating was wrong! Why would he say those things then go and do,” she looked frantically for the paper and waved it around violently, “this?!” She paused and Draco waited. “He even cried!” The last word was more of a growl than a sob.

 

Draco wanted to chuckle at the crying bit. _Tosser_!

 

She was whimpering. Tears running down her face and she was sniffling. “I’ll never be able to hold my head up again. I might as well go crawl in hole and live there… for eternity!”

 

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think, Granger?”

 

Hermione snapped her head in his direction. She was angry. He could deal with an angry Hermione. “Easy, love. Your life isn’t over, and if you ask me, you just dodged a curse. You’ll walk down the street with your chin up, because you’re a Gryffindor and that’s what you Gryffindor do. You’ll walk down the street with your shoulders squared, daring someone to say something, because you’re Hermione Granger, and that’s what you war heroines do.”

 

Hermione’s sniffling stopped, her eyes dried, but she still had hiccups. She smiled for the first time that day. “Thank you, Draco. You are magnificent.”

 

He agreed. He was magnificent. “Now, I want to hear all the gory details. Where did he come up with this shite?” Draco was a gossip at heart, and though the two had their rows, they both loved a good story.

 

Hermione closed her eyes and sat down. “Ugh. I can’t…”

 

His eyebrows rose in surprise. He’d figured Weasel had outright lied, but she was implying some of it was true. “Do tell,” he urged, not attempting to mask his eagerness.

 

Rolling her eyes, she harrumphed, but set to tell him everything. As embarrassing as it was, she was relieved at being able to share her side of things. She started in with the incompatible personalities and how she should have recognized that constant bickering did not always mean sexual tension; sometimes it just meant they never agreed.

 

“When we finally had sex, I- I- couldn’t-“

 

“Yes? Couldn’t what?”

 

“ _Feel_ him.”

 

Draco furrowed his brows. “Feel him? As in-“  


Hermione nodded and looked down at her lap then back up, willing him to understand.

 

Draco was confused. “I thought you said he was your first.”

 

“He _was_.”

 

Seconds ticked by. “Oh. Oooh.”

 

“Right. It was dark and I just thought we weren’t doing it right. Then as we continued, I still couldn’t feel him, and he never touched me or anything, so I thought something was wrong with me, then it was over.

 

“He’d never turn on the lights and he didn’t like my breasts. Said they were too small for his hands. We only kissed on occasion, and even those were just pecks. It was my fault. I read those books – you know the ones where the woman is writhing and moaning and bucking under the man?” Hermione didn’t wait for an answer, which was good, because Draco was not about to admit that he knew exactly the types of books to which she was referring. “I just figured that it was artful writing and no one did that.”

 

Hermione was miserable and Draco was stunned.

 

She glanced back to the crumpled paper.

 

‘ _HERMIONE GRANGER IS AS LIFELESS AS HER BELOVED BOOKS_!’ Read the headline, followed by: ‘ _Exclusive interview with the heartbroken and star Chudley Cannon’s Keeper, Ronald Weasley_ ’.

 

The following article was, in part, an interview from Hermione’s sympathetic/pathetic, prat ex-boyfriend, who just happened to be the starting Keeper for the Cannons.

 

Draco and Hermione read in silence, scanning over the assassination of Hermione’s character, her ‘abnormal’ sexuality, and how Ron had no other choice but to cut his losses and move on ‘ _from the only woman he’d ever loved_ ’, as quoted in the scathing article.

 

“I got fired,” she whispered after a while. Draco was looking at her with an angry and affronted expression. She smiled at his protective nature. “It’s for the best. We’re Unspeakables.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

She shrugged. “Not sure. Do something similar in nature to this, maybe.”

 

“Arithmancy or Runes?”

 

She nodded. “Both.”

 

Before he could say more, there was a knock at the door. Draco stood to open it after Hermione cast a Glamour Charm over her ruddy appearance. It was his father and they were both shocked.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, what-“

 

He lifted the Daily Prophet in his hand. “ _Incendio_!” Hermione smiled as the paper turned to ash. The three worked in separate departments, but still as Unspeakables, along with Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. No one else who she’d associated with from her Hogwarts years was employed there.

 

“You need a night out and I would be honored if you would accompany me for a drink… or many. Draco, won’t you join us?”

 

Hermione made a noise that was a mix between a strangled sob and a chuckle. Her heart was warmed by their interest in making her feel better, and truth be told, she was more than a little flattered. “Thank you. I’ll just-“

 

“Leave it. It will be here tomorrow, Miss Granger.”

 

“No, it won’t, Father. She was canned today.”

 

Lucius didn’t react with any telling expression. He only waved his wand, separating the files on her desk and sending them away with a pop. Draco followed his lead by shrinking all of her personal items and stuffing them in her rather frumpy bag – her favorite.

 

“There now, we’re all done. Shall we?” Lucius held his elbow for her take, wrapping her feminine fingers in the crook of his arm and leading her away. Hermione looked back to wave good-bye to her secretary, who had become a friend over the course of the years.

 

**OoO**

 

Hours later, and well into her cups, she motioned for Lucius to pour her another. “I was the virgin, not him! He should have known something was wrong.”

 

“I believe he did, which is why he never turned on the lights,” Draco said, sounding much more sober than she.

 

Hermione took a long pull from her firewhisky and pursed her lips as it burned the skin from her throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘im naked.”

 

Silence descended as both Malfoys pondered the unfortunate circumstance of having a small penis. It was not something that either Malfoy could empathize with as they were both rather gifted in that area.

 

The silence was interrupted by one of the Malfoy house-elves. “Masters, sirs, theses come for yous.” The small elf held the scroll high above his bowed head.

 

Lucius nodded and took the scroll. The elf popped out and Hermione took another drink without a thought as to the plight of the house-elve’s enslavement. She’d learned long ago that most elves were bound to their families and any disruption, like freedom, could severely degrade their quality of life. They were creatures of habit, and became overly anxious at variations in routine.

 

Lucius growled and Hermione wondered if he did that during sex. She decided that she found a growling Lucius terribly appealing.

 

Perhaps it was written all over her face, but Draco was smirking at her when she felt his eyes on her. He looked like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Scoffing with her eyes, she turned back to the very handsome, very broad-chested elder Malfoy.

 

Shaking her head to clear it from visions of a naked Lucius sprawled on her bed, she paused. He looked …perplexed. “Wha’s wrong?” She slurred then frowned and looked down at her now empty glass. Draco, still smirking at her, refilled her cup and before she could consciously object, her hand lifted the drink to her lips. She wondered what he’d put in it; it tasted better than it had when they’d first arrived.

 

“Pucey was injured today. It increases our risk of not meeting last year’s statistics,” Lucius said, answering her previous question, which she’d forgotten about.

 

“Statics… sta-tis-tics for what?” Hermione inquired.

 

“We own-“ Draco started.

 

“ _I_ own,” Lucius corrected.

 

Draco amended, “Father owns the Appleby Arrows.”

 

“He’s on’y; own-lee one p’ayer. ‘s there no one else?” she asked.

 

Ignoring her impaired speech, Lucius responded. “We have a few star players, but Pucey was the best Beater in the league. Now, we must rely on Flint’s skill, though I’m not worried. He’s a talented Keeper. I was thrilled when Draco suggested we recruit him from the Bulgarian team.”

 

Her mind whirred with ideas to help the Arrows along; she pressed her lips together in concentration, fighting through the drunken haze. If nothing else, Ron would pay for his betrayal through his beloved Chudley Cannons. “Arithmancy and Runes?” The question was not fully verbalized, leaving Lucius and Draco to stare at her. “Was there more to that question, Granger?” Draco asked, squashing the urge to laugh at her.

 

Hermione nodded, annoyed that they hadn’t understood her. “Have you ever used Arithmancy and Runes to determine play strategies?” It was spoken slowly, so as not to allow for confusion.

 

The Malfoy men didn’t speak immediately, seemingly pondering her suggestion. “No,” Lucius drawled then smiled. “Have you an idea, Pet?”

 

Numbers and symbols paraded through her mind, prompting her to inquire about the team, the players, the time, etc..

 

Draco sat back in the booth, satisfied to watch her mind at work. She pulled out a Muggle pen and used one of the napkins, writing down the answers to the questions she asked Lucius. In little less than a half hour, she’d handed him a napkin with a complex play that involved Pucey’s alternate and what Lucius told her about the other Beaters’ strengths and weaknesses. Neither man recognized the play and Lucius wanted to confirm one of the moves’ legality.

 

Hermione downed the remaining liquid and promptly passed out.   Her head narrowly missed the corner of the table.

 

Chuckling, Draco picked her up, and together, the Malfoys Floo’d from the bar to the Manor, putting her to bed in a guest bedroom.

 

**OoO**

 

Hermione woke to a pounding in her head and the sun shining so brightly she couldn’t open her eyes. Moaning, she felt around for her wand to shut the curtains. A soft pop had her burying her head under the soft pillow and groaning in despair.

 

“Masters- sirs wants yous to drink.”

 

Peeping out from under the pillow, she choked on a grateful sob. “Thank you,” she said, happily swigging the Hangover Potion in one go.

 

Once her head cleared, she realized she was not in her bed, but knew where she was.   Taking advantage of their hospitality, she walked to the luxurious bathroom and showered. Upon her return, she found her clothes cleaned and folded on the bedside with fresh linens on the bed.

 

Dressed and ready to go, she exited the pretty room and walked downstairs following the aroma of cooking food.

 

“Good morning,” she greeted, sitting at the table.

 

“Good afternoon,” Draco corrected. “It’s lunch.”

 

A blush stole her cheeks as she apologized for overstaying. “Nonsense. How do you feel?” Lucius asked.

 

“Better. Thank you.”

 

“Since we’re on a positive note, you probably shouldn’t read today’s Prophet.”

 

For a split second, Hermione entertained the idea of reading it, but thought better. “Rubbish,” she said instead and thanked the elf for the plate set in front of her.

 

“Good show,” Lucius praised.

 

After eating, they folded their napkins and sat back to let the food settle. Lucius broached the subject that had kept him awake most of the night. “Miss Granger, would you be interested in working for the Arrows?”

 

She made a face. “Doing what exactly?”

 

“Statistics. Arithmancy and Runes.”

 

“Will it help you beat Chudley?”

 

“We always beat Chudley, Granger,” Draco added.

 

She didn’t know what to say, except, “Worse than usual?”

 

Lucius chuckled. “Yes, Miss Granger, worse than usual.”

 

She smiled brightly. “Then I accept.”

 

Draco laughed. “Don’t you want to know your salary?”

 

“Don’t care,” she responded in a sing-song voice.

 

**OoO**

 

Two mornings later, Hermione was walking with Lucius Malfoy up the flight of stairs near the bleachers to watch the Arrows practice what Lucius had coined the Granger Gambit.

 

Over the course of the next three hours, Hermione was enthralled.  

 

**OoO**

 

Marcus knew who she was, who didn’t? Her face had been plastered on every magical media outlet from London to Brazil for years. He had kept a copy of the first front page news two days after the war had ended. The picture showed a haggard looking witch and her two best friends, one considered the savior of the wizarding world. They were standing on a mountain of rock just before an abrupt drop off. Marcus recognized it as one of the bridges to Hogwarts Castle. Hermione had just been standing there, arms at her sides, wand in her hand. Potter and Weasley were smiling at each other with one arm around her and the other in the air as a sign of victory.

 

Marcus had been intrigued by her expression; it was …broken, a mixture of shame, relief, and extreme fatigue.

 

Marcus mentally shook his head to clear it, and focused back on the two sitting, watching on the bleachers. She wasn’t Mr. Malfoy’s type, he surmised. He’d seen the man on more than one occasion with tall, lithe blondes who didn’t eat and rarely spoke, so she wasn’t a _companion_. The one thing Marcus remembered about Hermione Granger was that she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind; and he could see her mouth moving a mile a minute. Lucius nodded during their brief discussions in response to the young witch.

 

The two were concentrating on the practice, occasionally pointing out one thing or the other, changing the course of one or two of the Beaters.   Marcus was instructed to ‘hover’ at his perch high above the arena near the rings. He was bored and a little annoyed that he couldn’t participate.

 

Viktor had been his mentor, and had helped him to become more versatile with his skills in order to assure a long career. Marcus could play every position in Quidditch without losing a beat, and because of that, he never missed a practice, exercising his skills six days a week during Quidditch season and at least three times in the off-season.

 

His eyes focused on the small witch now smiling as the Beaters performed the play once more to perfection. She was pretty. She had a nice smile. He liked her hair. It was long and looked thick. The sun gave it a reddish tint, but he could tell it was more of a dark honey color. When she stood with Mr. Malfoy, he noticed how small she was compared to the regal wizard. Inhaling with slight disappointment, Marcus returned focus back on the players below him. He preferred taller witches, with some weight. He didn’t feel like such a giant around them. At nearly two metres tall, and weighing in at a robust 15 stone, Marcus was a big boy. It was all muscle, but he definitely stood out in a crowd.

 

“Looks like Marcus Flint has taken a liking to you, Granger,” came a voice from the stairs over to the side of Hermione and Lucius. Hermione turned around and smiled in greeting. She knew Adrian Pucey from Hogwarts, but it had been years since she’d seen the handsome wizard in person. “Mr. Pucey,” she acknowledged.

 

His shoulder was in a sling and he was walking with a cane to support his bandaged knee. He had some trouble making the tall step to the bleachers where they sat. Hermione rushed to take his healthy arm to help him keep his balance. “Thank you.”

 

Before she could respond or turn to speak to her new boss, a small brown owl swooped down and landed unsteadily on the rail. Hooting at Hermione, he lifted his leg for her to take the message. She recognized the bird and hesitated at taking the scroll. It was Molly Weasley’s owl, and Hermione knew that the witch had a tendency to believe the papers.

 

“Miss Granger?” Lucius asked, wondering why she didn’t receive the message and let the owl go. It clearly needed to eat.

 

The two men watched her curiously as she unrolled the parchment and paled as she read.

 

_Hermione,_

_Given our history, and your inclusion to our family over the years, I feel that I can be honest in sharing my feelings with you in regards to the Daily Prophet’s article, as well offer some motherly advice to you._

_Men need a woman who can …express themselves in situations that warrant an uninhibited response. I don’t blame you entirely. Ronald knew what he was getting into; you love books and you aren’t troubled with your appearance nor are you a particularly passionate witch, as far as boys go – aside from Viktor Krum all those years ago._

_Ronald needs a warm and inviting witch, so I’m sure you understand why he strayed._

_I’m sorry that this came about so publicly, but aren’t you happy that you can go on with your bookish manner (I mean that as a compliment)?_

_That all said; I believe this is an opportunity for you both to heal. It would be best for you to keep your distance and move on with your life. I’m sure we’ll see each other in the future. I’ll send any personal items left here at The Burrow to you by Floo._

_Good-bye dear,_

_Molly Weasley_

Lucius took the note when Hermione plopped down on the bench. “ _Incendio_!” he said then sent a small blast of wind to blow the ashes over the field below.

 

“So no more Weasley’s, no more boyfriend-“ Pucey started to list, but was interrupted by Hermione.

 

“New job, new friends, new life,” she said making a decision to move forward instead of dwelling in the recent past. Lucius nodded at her, proud that she was being positive.

 

Her eyes drifted to the large, dark haired wizard hovering by the rings. He was handsome in a rugged, burly way. So contrary to Ronald. The redhead was a bit of a ponce. He had very feminine hands. She’d never liked his hands. As her eyes roamed what she could see of this very masculine wizard sitting regally on his broom, her mind made comparisons of the two. This wizard had muscled arms and a clearly defined chest, where Ron’s chest was flabby and his arms thin. Hermione imagined Marcus Flint with a hairy chest and small pink nipples, where Ronald’s chest was bare with large oval shaped nipples slightly protruded from what could be called man-breasts. Each limb and large muscle group of Marcus’ was compared to Ron’s, resulting in her ex-boyfriend miserably failing the anatomy test.

 

“Hermione?!”

 

Her name was shouted and Pucey’s good hand was waving in front of her face. He looked put out and Lucius was smirking at her. Right, she’d zoned out, staring at the magnificent example of man now flying the broom in frustrated circles overhead.

 

“What’s the new job?” Adrian asked. “Besides ogling the new star Keeper?” Hermione scoffed and glared at Adrian for a moment before considering his question.

 

Lucius looked to Hermione to allow her to decide on a title. She smiled and inhaled. “Master Arithmancer and Statistician,” Hermione proudly declared.

 

Lucius smiled and nodded. “There you have it.”

 

**OoO**

 

That evening, Hermione sat on her comfortable couch, drinking tea and reading her latest book when the Floo coughed and spit out two shrunken boxes. They looked well worn and slightly beat up. Sighing, she set down her cup and went to unpack the items. Over the years, she’d left many things at The Burrow, so she was looking forward to walking down her past. Casting the spell to enlarge her things to regular size, she was surprised to find the boxes multiply into four then eight.

 

Books and clothes were in the first box. She pulled out a raggedy brown jumper, which she promptly tried on. It fit a little large – she clearly hadn’t lost her baby fat at the time of purchase, but the fabric was soft and comforting. It smelled a little of mildew, but she quickly cast a light cleansing charm on it.   Rummaging through the six more boxes, she had to throw away many things that no longer held any value to her, sentimental or otherwise.

 

She finally made it to the last box. It was the largest and Hermione had an idea of what was in it. The moment she opened it, her suspicions were confirmed; pictures. It seemed Molly sent every picture Hermione was in over the last ten years. Hermione’s chest constricted a bit at being disowned so easily.

 

Pulling out picture after picture caused her to smile, laugh, and cry. That’s how Draco found her, crying over a picture of her and the twins laughing at Ron sitting in the dirt looking like he’d lost a fight with a gnome.

 

“Hermione,” he said, sitting gracefully next to her on the floor and putting his arm around her. “Don’t cry.”

 

She shook her head and looked at her splayed hands. “I have no one, Draco. My parents are dead and most of my life and friends were tied to the Weasleys; Harry and Luna.” She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I don’t make friends easily. I don’t know how to start over.” Draco didn’t speak. He felt for this witch. He didn’t make friends easily either and this witch had accepted him even after everything that they had been through and the things that he’d done.

 

She was leaning into him now, with her head on his shoulder. “Hermione,” he said, his voice raspy, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She looked up and Draco caught his breath.

 

Before he knew what was happening, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. That was all she needed to unlock years of pent up sexual frustration. Knocking them both over and landing Draco flat on his back, Hermione ripped at his button down shirt scattering buttons to every corner of the room. Draco was not a victim in this attack; while she gyrated over his now hard as a rock cock, he pulled her frumpy brown jumper over her head and tossed it, _accidently_ , into the fire. They kissed, moaned; seeking friction, they humped, licked and sucked; they took from each other comfort and healing and pleasure.

 

He freed her breasts from the pretty light gray lace bra and sighed with satisfaction. “You have beautiful breasts,” he mumbled as he lifted his head, open-mouthed, to capture one of her pebbled nipples and sucked loudly.

 

Hermione screamed and roughly carded her fingers through his silky hair to keep his head where it was. “Oh yes!” She ground her core into him once and felt electricity shoot through every fiber of her being.

 

Draco felt her tense and sucked hard, gripping her hips with more strength; certain he would leave bruises on her skin, but didn’t care. He just wanted to be inside of her, feel her, stretch her, come in her.

 

When Hermione could once again breathe, she looked down at Draco, lapping at her nipples, alternating between the two of them. “Draco,” she whispered.

 

He looked up at her, and smiled. Lying back slowly, he instructed her, “Take these off, love,” he said, tugging on her yoga pants, ones that had never seen a yoga class. She stood and pulled them off.

 

Draco had a clear view of her pussy and licked his lips in anticipation. As she lowered herself, she frowned a bit. He still wore his trousers, though, his belt was askew, and the top button undone.

 

He stopped her midway. “No, no, love, up here,” he said, pointing toward his chin.

 

Hermione hesitated. “Draco, I’ve never…”

 

“Please,” he whispered. He _wanted_ to.

 

And she wanted him to. Inching her way to his face, she watched every expression that crossed his features.   He wasn’t looking into her eyes; he was focused on her pussy. She was so glad she’d decided to take a bath and shave when she got home earlier.

 

“That’s right; keep coming,” he urged.

 

Finally, she sank down over his lips and immediately, she felt the cool burn of his tongue trace her lips, open her up, and fuck her. Her breathing became shallow and she tried not to buck, but before long, she was murmuring encouragement and rocking her hips gently over his face while his tongue and lips gave her rapture. Draco paused briefly telling her to come in his mouth then continued his ministration with ardor.

 

It didn’t take her long to scream her release into his mouth. He lifted her before she stopped spasming, only to impale her on his cock. It was painful for both as she was immeasurably tight -he was definitely larger than Ron. Pulling her down further, his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to stop her descent, but was too late. She screamed, letting gravity take over. Draco felt the thin barrier tear. Hermione had been a virgin.

 

They looked at each other for a moment of complete anxiety. Draco’s hands softened their grip and he was going to tell her they didn’t have to continue, but she shook her head vehemently in opposition.

 

Feeling like the breath was knocked from her body, she felt Draco begin to move slowly, circling his hips, giving her a feeling of floating – an almost out of body experience, as the pain ebbed and the pleasure flowed. She let him lead, in and out of her, tweaking her nipples, whispering to her that she was beautiful and wet and tight and warm, and how he wanted to her come on him again.

 

“Yes, yes, Draco. I want to come. Yes, don’t stop,” she urged.

 

Clenching, when he hit a spot that made her mewl, he grunted. “I have to come – now.”

 

Flipping her over and placing her on all fours, he gently pushed inside of her and thrust at a steady rhythm. His balls tightened and he increased his speed. “Hermione,” he chanted over and over again, feeling his climax coming.

 

Crying out, they orgasmed together, her rocking back into him, and him thrusting until he couldn’t anymore. They collapsed on the floor, sweating and panting and sated.

 

They woke up some time later, chilled and huddled together. Draco _Accio’d_ a blanket from the couch and covered them both. “Draco?”

 

He kissed her shoulder. “Yes, love?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Closing his eyes, he smiled and pulled her closer. They once again fell into the dark abyss of sleep.

**OoO**

 

The sun was coming up shining a pinkish hue in her window when Hermione opened her eyes again. She didn’t feel Draco and realized that she was in her room, under her covers. A parchment crinkled as she was patting the spot behind her.   It was from Draco.

 

‘ _See you later. Xoxo -D_ ’

 

Hermione being Hermione spent the next hour lying in bed and analyzing what had occurred. She didn’t love him romantically, but could she? She decided that yes, she could, but perhaps she shouldn’t rush into anything. Perhaps, she should just appreciate the experience and keep him as a friend. She didn’t have many of those, and was thinking he probably didn’t either.  

 

**OoO**

 

They ate in silence; Lucius casting sideways glances at his son, who was deep in thought. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or continue to stab yourself in the lips with your fork for not paying attention?”

 

“We had sex.”

 

“Who… Ah, Miss Granger then. Are you afraid she’s now in love with you? Completely consumed by your mastery of sexual prowess?” It was said in teasing humor, but he could see his son was miserable and that that was exactly what he was afraid of. “Miss Granger is a logical witch. I’m sure she’s thinking of the best way to ‘let you down easy’.”

 

Draco perked up at this. “You think so?”

 

Lucius was not put off by his son’s confidence of his skills in the bedroom. Lucius himself knew the feeling and had experience with more than one witch who became obsessed with him.  

 

“I do-“ Lucius was interrupted by the Floo clicking and the witch in question walking through. Hermione giggled a little at the forlorn look on Draco’s face. It made him frown and Lucius snort.

 

“Hermione, wha-“

 

She held up a finger to silence him and then spoke. “Forgive me for intruding, but I just couldn’t wait.” Hermione turned to Draco. “You mean too much to me.” Draco now looked stricken and Hermione shook her head. “It’s not what you think, big head.”

 

“Miss Granger, perhaps you should sit. Would you like some breakfast?”

 

“Yes, thank you.” She turned back to Draco. “We’re friends and I’d like to keep it that way.”

 

“Oh, thank Merlin! So you’re not in-in love with me?”

 

“Circe, no! I mean, you’re wonderful and last night was amazing and I can’t thank you enough for being there for me, but it would be wrong if I pursued you or allowed you to pursue me.” She took his hand from across the table. “I love you, _friend_.”

 

Lucius gagging at the head of the table brought them both to chuckling. They finished eating and made their way to the den for team strategizing.

 

**OoO**

 

Over the coming weeks, Hermione worked with Lucius, primarily, and Draco going through her plays and methods. A routine began where the three would come together in the evenings over dinner or just coffee and talk about the news, or Quidditch. Hermione would often wonder out loud how Ron pulled in so many witches, when he clearly didn’t have what it took to please.

The Malfoys suggested that ‘that Weasley boy’ (Lucius), and ‘the Weasel’ (Draco) never actually sealed the deal. Witches were probably smitten with his ‘gentlemanly’ manner.

 

One afternoon, Hermione came rushing in excitedly, waving the paper in the air, and breathing heavy as if she’d run all the way from her home to theirs. “I’m not crazy!” she announced, plopping down on the comfortable chair that she’d adopted, and smoothing down her frazzled hair.

 

After that declaration, Lucius raised an eyebrow and Draco responded with, “You’re not making a great case to the contrary, Granger.”

 

Hermione huffed and snapped the parchment. “Did you read today’s article? Romilda Vane snuck into the Cannon’s locker room!” She left the rest of the story for the Malfoys to surmise. They, however, needed more detail.

 

Inhaling, she made leading statements. “After practice… Ron’s on the team… He was just out of the shower…??”

 

Draco’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Did she catch him?”

 

Hermione giggled and nodded her head. She unrolled the parchment and read the headline aloud: “ _’PLEASE ACCEPT OUR APOLOGIES, MISS GRANGE_ R’. There’s more, but that’s good enough for me. Now everyone knows what a - ”

 

She couldn’t think of a word, but Lucius assisted quite generously. “Wee-willy?”

 

Laughing out loud, she agreed, “Yes!” She furrowed her brows after the mirth died down. “I feel a bit guilty. He’s probably really embarrassed; mortified even.”

 

The Malfoys shrugged their shoulders; it didn’t matter if Ronald was embarrassed. It really wasn’t anything that anyone could control. Though, Lucius thought that if he’d been working with something that small, he would have been a whole lot more humble.

 

**OoO**

 

It’d been two months since she’d started working with the Appleby Arrows, getting to know them, understanding the way they play, what their strengths and weaknesses were, how their social activities and personal lives impacted how they played.  

 

Hermione had been instrumental in creating new plays and bringing them a winning streak. Draco and she had become very close, thought not intimate again, and she looked at him with affectionate eyes. He’d given her something she couldn’t repay.

 

In the last two months, she also developed an all-consuming crush on the large Keeper, Marcus Flint. He starred in all of her fantasies, at night, when she was alone lying in her bed. She would begin with a fictitious conversation between them, he would smile, and she would smile. All the while her fingers would slide slowly across her stomach to her mons. In her mind, Marcus would ravage her up against the wall; and in reality, her fingers would part her lips and circle her clit. Soon, she would tense, whispering his name as she climaxed. Then she would return to the real world and sleep.

 

Marcus didn’t speak much, even when all the team was gathered, he almost always remained quiet, observing. Hermione always made a point of trying to engage him in conversation, but he only ever responded with one-word answers. Little things he did sent her on an emotional high; once she’d helped him lace up the new leather Keepers chest protective gear and her mumbling about the laces made him smile. His face turned slightly to look down at her and his eyes glittered with humor. She’d been so caught up in the midnight blue eyes that she’d lost her count. “Marcus!” she’d said, annoyed that she’d let him get her flustered by a mere expression. He’d chuckled and said, “You’re funny, Princess.”   Her stomach had flip-flopped at the endearment. He was the only one to call her that. She’d finished up and pushed him on his way, fisting her small hands to keep them from touching anything else on his person.

 

“Hi Marcus,” she greeted as she walked by the team’s lounge room to her office.

 

“Princess,” he responded.

 

Sighing as she walked by, he couldn’t help but get annoyed at himself for wanting to distract her from her usual business, business, business; always business with her. She only ever said hello and on a few occasions, she’d stayed to help him with something or other. She made him smile with her constantly talking to herself and nervous demeanor. Marcus had wondered at one point if it was just around him that she became flustered, but decided that she was just anxious around men in general. Merlin knew that Weasley probably didn’t treat her right; base-born purebloods weren’t often taught the finer details of gentlemanly behavior.   She did seem relaxed around the Malfoys, and if there was anyone to feel tense around, it was them.

 

When he’d first seen her with Lucius in the stands, he wasn’t interested. Small women didn’t do anything for him, but the more he saw her, the more he wanted her, the more her small size made him want to dominate her. Her size would allow him to pick her up and manipulate her in every way possible without putting a strain on his muscles. He could fuck her forever just holding her up: against the wall, standing in the middle of the room while he impaled her with his cock over and over and over again. He could sit in a chair as she stood, bend her over, positioning her arse to his face, and devour her in every orifice. He could even set her on his shoulders with her cunt to his mouth and eat her out that way.

 

He was hard now and it wasn’t going away. Luckily, no one was here; only the object of his affection, but he knew she’d be working on her runes for hours. He decided to slowly, quietly, relieve the pressure. Sliding his hand down the front of his sweat pants, Marcus closed his eyes as he gripped his large member.

 

Stroking up and down, wanting to prolong the fantasy of Hermione’s bum in his face, he shifted his hips and whispered, “Hermione, my princess.” He was not expecting a response.

 

“Marcus?” It was Hermione and he didn’t know what to do. Panic set in for a moment as he extracted, nonchalantly – as if he were just fiddling with the tie on the waistband, his hand. He still had a very large, very hard problem and she probably shouldn’t come any closer.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked, wondering why he tensed when she came in. Crushing disappointment settled over her. He didn’t even want her around. She was a nuisance to him, some groupie not to be bothered with.

 

“Sorry, Marcus, I’ll just go,” she said, stepping out the door.

 

Pressing his hand to his cock, he said, “Wait.” Now he really was panicking, because he had no idea what he was going to say or how he would get rid of this …problem.

 

She paused and slowly turned to face him. He hadn’t moved, still faced forward, but he’d called her to wait. A shock of thrilled electricity shot through her body as she walked slowly to the sofa where he sat. He looked …scared.

 

“Marcus?”

 

“Are you sleeping with Malfoy?” he blurted, then immediately mentally kicked himself. He didn’t want to look at her, but couldn’t help himself. His dark blue eyes locked onto her cinnamon brown ones. He noticed how her chest was rising and falling quickly, and wondered if she felt the same way he did.

 

“No. I-I did have sex with Draco a while ago, but…” she finished, shaking her head.

 

Marcus stood. His erection was large and protruding, drawing her eyes downward.

 

“Marcus, I – I’m not a groupie,” she told him, hoping that he wouldn’t turn away from her.

 

“I know.” He pulled off his shirt and was walking slowly towards her after dropping it on the floor.

 

Hermione swallowed and tilted her head back to look up at him.

 

Marcus continued to look at her. “I like you,” he said.

 

In that moment, she realized that they’d been courting over the last two months.

 

Hermione wanted to respond, but in the time it took for her come to that conclusion, Marcus had pushed her against the wall, lifted her up, so that her legs wrapped around his waist, and was now snogging the living daylights out of her.

 

Their tongues were sliding against each other sensually, their hands squeezing and releasing fleshy and muscled body parts, their hips pumping in rhythm to thighs pulling closer. Soon he was breathing her in as he hit her clit over and over again through her knickers. She was going to come and Marcus knew it.

 

“Yes,” he whispered against her cheek, watching her. “Come.”

 

Dropping her head back against the wall with a thump, she hissed as pleasure coursed through her body. She vaguely felt the sting of elastic against the sensitive skin of her hips. While she was floating, Marcus had stripped her of her knickers and was in the process of lifting her higher.

 

Marcus watched her eyes close and needing to taste her; he slipped his hand under her skirt and tore off her knickers. His movements were rushed and urgent. Hermione yelped as he lifted her, immediately bringing her cunt to his face. His large hands manipulated the position of her legs, opening and closing as needed. All she could do was pant and enjoy the sensation of what his mouth was doing. “Oh Marcus, I’m going to come… nnnnnmmmmmgggghhh.”

 

Marcus moaned and slurped and licked at her. He made noises of appreciation, like ‘mmmmm’, accompanied by words like ‘so good’.

 

Once her insides had turned to jelly, Marcus lowered her and carried her to the large sofa. Transfiguring it into a bed and casting wards around the room, so they would be alone. When he took off his sweat pants, Hermione, literally, sat up and took notice. He was beautiful, large in every aspect, and chiseled. Her eyes followed the trail of black hair that began below his navel and ended in a thatch of wiry hair at the base of his fully hard and very impressive cock.   She wanted to touch him.

 

“No,” he said. “I won’t last.”

 

Hermione blinked, not sure of what to do. She was ready, willing, and able to return the favor – wanted to, in fact, but _he_ didn’t want her to.

 

“Open your legs. I want to see you again.” Marcus waited while she processed his request. It started with a slow parting of her knees. “Lie back,” he instructed.

 

She did. Still parting her knees, she watched his dark eyes get even darker; his hard cock twitch, making it harder.   “I’m going to fuck you now, Princess; so hard that you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.” He was not asking for consent; it was a warning.

 

Hermione could only nod.

 

Marcus was large and her legs had to open wider to allow him to settle in between them.

 

Sinking inside of her, he pushed forward steadily not pulling out to let her adjust to his size. It was painful and pleasurable and persistent. “Marcus, Marcus, Marcus…” she chanted as he slowly pushed inside of her without letting up.

 

He was grunting and sucking on her nipple and pushing. He knew she could take all of him. He shifted his hand to lift her bum. With the action, her feet were now in the air and his pelvis was pressing on her clit. He continued to suck and nip on her nipple.

 

Hermione’s hands kneaded and massaged his shoulders while her breath came out in huffs.

 

“You’ll take all of me, Princess, and then I’m not letting you go.” He sounded so certain that he would fit, but the sentiment was there – he wasn’t letting her go.

 

She gasped, her back arched, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Marcus bottomed out and began to thrust. She could feel every vein in his cock; he filled her so completely. He felt so good.

 

Scraping against the spongy tissue inside of her with every movement, she was soon coming again, screaming his name.

 

He wasn’t done with her. He’d made a promise and a promise he would keep – he’d fuck her until she couldn’t walk straight. Sliding his hand around her rear cheek, his finger dipped in the warmth of her essence, providing lubrication. Slowing his rhythm, his finger skipped slowly to her rosebud. Hermione tensed, but with her legs spread and her feet in the air, there wasn’t much she could do about it. “Relax, princess. I won’t hurt you. I want to touch you everywhere.” His words were whispered, but confident, giving Hermione a feeling of both anxiety and pleasure.

 

Marcus continued his exploration, pressing and dipping, until he found a spot that made her croon with delight. With his finger pulsing and his thrusting steady, Hermione thought she was losing her mind.

 

He made her scream three more times, before he couldn’t hold it in and thrust once more, releasing inside of her and calling her name with a roar of satisfaction. He spent the next forty minutes licking her and exploring her body with ardor. She vowed that when she had the energy and once her bones solidified, she would prove what a quick learner she is and render him jelly.

 

A half hour later, they emerged from the lounge area to a hallway filled with Marcus’ teammates, the Chudley Cannons, and her boss.

 

Draco was red from trying to suppress laughter, as was most of the team. Ron looked like he had been hit hard with a Bludger, more so than usual. Hermione knew they knew; she just wasn’t sure how they knew. Lucius cleared up that little mystery a second later. “One of you tripped the speaker switch – we could hear you out on the field.”

 

Blood left her face and she would have fainted had it not been for Marcus holding her up and laughing hysterically, with the rest of the team.

 

**OoO**

 

Two years and many months of groveling later ( _from Marcus for laughing_ ), Hermione smiled at Lucius when they heard the music. It was time. “Ready?” he asked, holding his elbow out for her to take.

 

Hermione nodded and smiled. “I’m ready,” she said.

 

The guests stood upon the bride’s appearance, and down the aisle she walked, guided by Lucius Malfoy, to her soon-to-be husband, Marcus Flint – who, at the moment, looked like he’d seen the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
